Accidental Captain
by Pheather McKelle
Summary: A job interview for an accounting business has to be put on hold when the Chitauri invade, and the way she defends a whole street from extraterrestrials makes everyone think she's a bit overqualified for that line of work. [Update: has been expanded, no longer a oneshot! Rated T for violence and language]
1. Chapter 1

**Accidental Captain**

**An Avengers Fanfiction**

**by Pheather McKelle**

_**I do not own the Avengers nor their characters, I'm just a girl with a dream. :3**_

_**I haven't seen too many Chitauri invasion survival stories, and I got a little bored with my other stories, so here's a little oneshot I made up in my free time. Should I expand? Let me know in the reviews!**_

It wasn't the worst coffee I'd ever had, but it was certainly up there; it tasted like it was only coffee-flavored dishwater. The croissant was damp and dense, and the cup that contained said dishwater coffee had a lipstick stain on it. I had abandoned both the coffee and the croissant in favor of today's headline, the only serviceable thing in the cafe, and was just starting to scan the front page when I heard a deep, sonorous boom that rocked the bowels of New York and seemed to echo through the maze of subway systems. A bomb? The rest of the cafe patrons looked as confused as I was, and the majority crowded around the large storefront windows, peering out onto the wide street clogged with cars.

"Look at Stark Towers!" someone outside the cafe shouted. I peered at the tower where, way off in the distance, what looked like a pillar of white light tinged with blue pierced the heavens, a black portal to nothingness opened like a rip in the atmosphere, and multiple… Things flew out. Stark, what the hell are you doing now, I grumbled to myself, poking my way through the mass of people to get a closer look.

Suddenly, one of those things flew past, making a horrible ricocheting screech that made my hair stand on end, riding on what looked like a hovering platform made of a dark iridescent black metal. It wielded a gun, the likes of which I haven't seen before even with my limited knowledge of firearms. He aimed it directly at the cafe, leisurely taking aim. My eyes widened.

"Everyone get down!" I yelled instinctively, ducking behind the counter along with several others. A bright blue ball of what seemed to be pure crackling energy exploded the front window, shattering glass and smoldering drywall, blasting apart the front counter but leaving the back relatively untouched. Fragments rained down on bodies, both alive and dead, dust and wall material crumbling into my hair.

There were only five survivors in the previously busy cafe, none of whom could hear because of the explosion. A high-pitched ringing stuck in my ears and I hoped it would fade away soon. I pawed at my ear, trying to get hearing back, and was relieved when I could hear the dry rustle of skin through hair. The others too seemed to be getting their hearing back.

"Is everyone okay?" I yelled, the fringes of my sentence edging sluggishly through my ears. They nodded, scrabbling at their ears, trying to get more sensory information. I looked around the cafe, surveying the damage. The whole front wall had been blasted open, exposing the interior shop to the rampaging extraterrestrials that pillaged the streets beyond. More of their kind kept a steady stream of refreshments as a few clumsy ones rammed their vehicles into walls, the handling appearing worse than a shopping cart. I unconsciously filed that information away as I turned back to the survivors.

"We need to get out of here, it's not safe." I said, gingerly stepping around a charred body. The others, too scared or too naturally submissive to argue, followed my lead, skirting the corpses. We edged along the mostly intact shopping plaza which bordered a wide street, making our little party prime targets. Cars were overturned, people running in panic, some slamming into us. One turned and fled with the tide, until a squad of aliens herded us the way I was going.

"TO THE BASEMENT!" I shouted to no one in particular, dashing headlong for a solid-looking cement building, holding open the door so the few pedestrians who heard me could enter safely. One became two until most of the street had flung through the doors and down to the depths of the building. I was the last to follow, closing the door as tightly as I could and shutting all the windows.

The buildings were old, and had interlinking basements. Though dank and dreary, people could walk around somewhat comfortably. There were ground-shaking booms as streets cracked and buildings crumbled. The dim fluorescent lights flickered with the explosions, the people too scared to do much more than whisper.

A clang and a blast from upstairs caused a few people to whimper. My head whipped towards the stairs, my ears straining to hear the sounds from above. My hearing had improved significantly, though I still had difficulty with softer sounds. However, these were loud, clomping boots and distinctly foreign clicks and guttural words. These were aliens.

My heart raced and all thoughts seemed to vanish. A quiet squeal snapped my attention back to the situation.

"Shh!" someone corrected. The whole room had gone completely quiet. Whether that person was just loud or the aliens had particularly sensitive hearing, I never knew, but their clicks and growls stopped and the clomp of their boots became decidedly less noisy. I knew they were heading for the basement door, and I was right in their line of fire. I glanced around desperately, but only found the horrified, somewhat sympathetic looks of people who had lost hope. Suddenly, my gaze fell on something red. A crowbar.

My cold, clammy hands gripped the slick, slightly rusted metal, my limbs shaking with fear as I crept closer to the stairwell, eyes trained on the door. Everyone inched back, crowding against the far wall, staring horror-struck, their eyes pinned to the door.

I never knew how I rolled to my feet after the explosion knocked me back, all I knew is that somehow my old self-defense lessons went into effect as the crowbar somehow found its way into what I could only assume was the mouth of one and cracked the cranium of the other. It wasn't the prettiest display of crude martial arts, but it got the job done, though my upper left arm was signed by their strange guns.

Picking one up, I examined it for any clues as to its workings and saw that it was similar to the designs of earth guns. A trigger and a handle. How it was powered or the ammunition it used was beyond me. It was fairly light and the tip glowed bright blue, and seemed to hum with energy.

It seemed as though when they died, there was a signal that told others where to find them, since not five minutes later another small gang of loners burst into the building. One other volunteer tried to dispatch of them with minimal complications, but both the accuracy and the range of the weapons were not calibrated for humans in mind. I ducked behind an overturned desk where we were taking refuge.

"This is why I'm not a soldier." He growled into his grizzly brown beard, hoping that whatever ammo the gun had didn't run out. I nodded tersely, quickly peeking out from behind the desk.

"Two at my three o'clock." I said, scooting to a more comfortable position and thanking my lucky stars I had decided to wear flats to my job interview. The man nodded, whipping around a trying to pop them in the head. The ball of energy sailed past them a hair's breath away, colliding with the opposite wall and blasting a large hole in the cement. The whole building trembled.

"Please tell me you didn't take out any structural support." I asked as I felt the ground shake. He grimaced.

"I'll hold them off, you get everyone else out." He said, standing from his squatting position and firing in their general direction, forcing them to take cover. "GO!" he yelled when he saw my hesitation, shoving me back with a free hand. I scrambled back, stumbling once on debris.

"Wait!" I called, turning around. "What's your name?"

"Daniel Loor!" He grunted without turning around. "And yours?"

"Jennifer Anders!" I yelled before dashing down to the basement.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Oneshot no longer! I'm in the midst of a writer's block and a new story with a different plot was just what the doctor ordered. (that, and I didn't have any oneshot ideas) I was thinking about a potential ship between her and our dear Captain? Any other suggestions are welcome! **

Needless to say, I missed my job interview. But of course, with New York crumbling around me, I wasn't too concerned with that tidbit of information.

After herding everyone outside via stairwell that led to an alleyway, we crowded in a mostly overlooked building, dust shaking from the ceiling with each blast from the aliens. We thought that would be the worst, until we heard a metallic roar echo off the brick buildings lining the street. A slithering, grating sound warbled above us, and the roar suddenly boomed directly overhead, making my still-healing eardrums vibrate. More clicks and explosions, which seemed paltry in comparison with whatever was making the roar, shook the building. People huddled in corners, while I still held on to the alien gun, guarding the door looking far more composed than I was feeling. I tried not to think of Daniel Loor, especially when I thought I heard the building crumble. The whir of those hovering platforms, the screeches of those driving them, all suddenly became commonplace. Nothing new would have phased us. The war raging on outside became the new norm. And we adapted. The only thing that gave us any hope, any sense of purpose, was the desperate belief that we would be rescued. We clung to that belief more than life itself. The next few hours were an agony of waiting.

Waiting for help.

Waiting for the next explosion.

Waiting to die.

No one knew anyone else in the room yet clung to them as if they were close relatives and friends, sobbing on shoulders or shielding them haphazardly with their bodies each time an explosion rocked the building's foundations. I felt a little lonely and out of place, although I conceded that my grime-streaked face, ripped stockings, purplish, metallic-smelling alien blood staining my blouse, and stoic, faraway expression didn't encourage familiarity. Eventually we heard the rumble of what we could only assume were army tanks, and a brief peek through a window confirmed this fact.

"Are they coming to save us?" was the general murmur that swept through the group.

"I think they're going to take down the aliens first." I told them, though I seemed to be talking more to myself than the group. Thirty plus faced nodded in agreement, and I was struck by the thought that these helpless creatures had, at some point, surrendered the safekeeping of their safety to a patron at a coffee shop. The followed me blindly and without question, and would probably do so again. I sagged against the cool wall, suddenly drained of energy. The weapon in my hand felt ten times heavier and made a hollow clank as I sank to the floor, exhausted. I closed my eyes and found myself mumbling a haiku I made up a few weeks ago:

_Dear friends; do not mourn _

_For out of my death will come _

_A bright red flower_

It didn't make much sense, even to me, but it sounded cool and slowed my ragged breathing. Eventually my heartbeat slowed enough for me to stagger to my feet, feeling far more refreshed than before. By now, the majority of the battle was more scattered, less concentrated, and spread thinner. There were less and less explosions closer to us, though I suspected the rest of New York fared no better than our small portion.

And suddenly they just stopped. Terrible screeching, thuds, clanks, all spread in a wave over the ruined city, with the shudder of something large smashing into a building. All was quiet for several minutes, and I hardly dared to think it was over, yet I couldn't bare the thought of spending the night in a constant state of agitation. Minutes turned into hours and no one had moved.

"I'm going to check things out." I said, opening the door slowly. I craned my neck to see in the hall and what I saw made me almost cry with relief: men in uniforms. God bless America, I thought wildly, a silly grin spreading across my face. "The army is here." I choked out, turning to face the group, tears making pale streaks down my face. Others had similar reactions, standing shakily, hugging each other with soldiers entered, immediately putting the safeties on their guns and checking the conditions of the survivors. With a burst of memory, I suddenly thought of Daniel Loor.

"Did you find someone? In the building out front?" I asked, grabbing one's shoulder. "Daniel Loor?" I asked, irrationally hoping he was still alive.

"There - there were no bodies." he hesitated. Whirling, around I dashed out the door, almost tumbling down the stairs into the basement, and then up again into the main building. It was in shambles. Iron supports lay prostrate on the ground, crumbled cement, brick, and twisted lumps of semi-melted metal scattered on the ground. It was almost unrecognizable.

"Daniel!" I shouted, standing in the middle of the building, the gun held slack in my hands. "DANIEL!" I shouted again, irrationally pleading that he had somehow survived. The dull thud of feet behind me barely phased me as a soldier patted my shoulder, murmuring condolences lost in the rush of blood in my ears as shock crept through my body. The gun fell from my hand, bouncing harmlessly against the concrete. Through a haze, I heard the soldier shouting for medical support as I slumped to the floor, my vision going black. The last thing I saw was a flash of red, white, and blue.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Hm yes I think she and Cap will do just fine. *plots deviously***

The bright white light blinded me and for a moment of terrifying detachment I thought I was dead. As the blurry expanse of white solidified around me, I also recognized the sharp smell of disinfectant. My head felt thick and fuzzy and my eyes took longer to adjust to the light than I remembered. Turning my head to the side, I saw that my body had been hooked up to all manner of machines, with various liquids draining into my veins. I assumed this was why I felt groggy and disoriented. I flexed my fingers and toes, waving a heavy palm. Good, I wasn't dead. One could never be too sure.

I sucked in a lungful of hospital air and exhaled, trying to remember what happened, and it all came back to me like a waterfall: the coffee shop, the explosion, the basement, the aliens, the building, and lastly, the memory of me searching for Daniel. A tear leaked out of the corner of my eye when I remembered that he had stayed behind to fend off the aliens. I, and everyone in the basement, owed him our lives.

As I slowly came back to reality, and the disorientation disintegrated, I propped myself up on an elbow that wasn't hooked up to any machines or IV bags. The clock on the nightstand was hidden underneath papers and orange bottles of prescription medications. With a somewhat clumsy rearranging of the obstructions, I saw that it was eight o'clock, but it rather unhelpfully did not tell whether it was a.m. or p.m. I sighed and flopped back on my pillow, rubbing my eyes with my fingers. Would I get a second job interview? I suddenly thought, wondering if my boss to-be made exceptions for being attacked by extraterrestrials. I sure hoped he did.

My thoughts were cut short when a door opened and two people entered. One was a woman with shoulder-length brown hair in a scrappy ponytail. The other was a tall and muscular man, with a shock of blond hair on his head, and he wore a rather striking red, white, and blue-spangled suit. I almost laughed; it looked like he was auditioning for the part of Uncle Sam's son.

"Ms. Anders, my name is Agent Maria Hill, and this is Steve Rogers." said the woman, indicating Mr. Red White and Blue. The man inclined his head.

"Ma'am." he said politely. I laughed weakly.

"Just Jennifer is fine." I corrected, earning me a small smile. "What happened after I… Fell unconscious?" I asked.

"The chitauri aliens were deactivated when their base was destroyed." Hill said curtly. "You have earned the government's sincere thanks for your service." she sounded stiff and formal, and I took the thanks halfheartedly.

"You're welcome America." I rasped, scratching the back of my head.

"Mr. Rogers just wanted to check on you to see if you were alright." Hill continued, stepping somewhat to the side, as if giving Steve permission to talk to me. He maneuvered somewhat awkwardly to the side of my bed, and I attempted to sit upright, severely conscious of the cowlick off to the side of my part.

"How are you feeling?" he began, gingerly settling in the chair.

"Battered all to hell and swimming in a fog, but otherwise I'm okay. And yourself?" I asked.

"Tired." he replied with a dry smile.

I rubbed a large splash of purple and blue that extended down my shoulder and caught him eyeing it warily. "So… Am I okay? Why am I here?" I asked to anyone in particular.

"We were unsure why you fainted and thought we should keep you overnight to be on the safe side." Hill replied. "If it hadn't been for Rogers here, you might have added another bruise to your collection." Steve blushed somewhat and I averted my eyes.

"Well it's not like I needed another one." I grimaced, discovering a slightly green and yellow spot on my chest, unsure as to how it got there.

"You were going to apply for an accounting job?" Hill asked suddenly.

"Er… Yes, why?" I fidgeted in the bed.

"Since that particular place of work was demolished, SHIELD is offering you a new one. With a little training, we believe you could make a great agent." I stared in slight shock for a moment, not quite believing her words.

"What is SHIELD?" I managed to say through the haze of pain medication and confused, jumbled thoughts.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division." Hill replied.

"Gazunteight." I added.

"It's a government organization which responds to unusual or sensitive events. We're below the normal radar." she added with a slight twinkle in her eye. Clearly the organization meant everything to her. I noticed the one-piece black suit which clung to her form, embellished with a blocky eagle on the shoulder and a belt. So of course, with my muddled mind, the only thing I could think of was if I would get a snazzy uniform too. I probably shouldn't have been making life-altering decisions at this point, but even I knew that my apartment had probably been reduced to frazzled electrical wires and crumbled drywall. And the position was temptingly open even without a resume.

Hill interrupted my thoughts when she walked over to the table, setting a thick packet on top of the clock. "This is a briefing packet. If you can, look over it before making a decision." She then walked to the door, pausing for Steve, who smiled at me one last time before following her. After the talk with those two, I felt suddenly drained, and I slumped further into the pillows, and the last thing I thought before drifting off to a nap was how Steve had a cute smile.

I woke up and my side was on fire.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Nawwww awkward Steve. :3**

Well, my side wasn't literally on fire, but it was in a decent amount of pain, and I think that justified the expression.

I scrabbled at the hem of my hospital gown, wrenching it up to expose a terrifyingly pulsing purple and red mark that stretched across the side of my ribs, about the same size as an apple. I screamed, fumbling for the red panic button that was always in hospitals, but my hands were shaky and the pain forced me to collapse inwards.

"HELP!" I yelled as loudly as I could, turning my body as far as I dared to try and reach the red button. The door burst open and five nurses scuttled in, asking questions as to the whereabouts of the pain and the scale, but I couldn't say or do much except clutch my side and pray I didn't vomit all over myself.

One of the nurses stuck me with a needle, and I felt my head swim and threatened to go down, but somehow I managed to stay awake as they were wheeling my hospital bed outside, down a stretch of hallway, and into another room, this one darker. My fingers and extremities started to twitch like a seizure, my face locked in a permanent scowl. Just as a singular bright light hovered over my field of vision, the darkness encroached and swallowed it whole, and I was only vaguely aware that I was asleep. The pain stubbornly refused to go away throughout my drugged nap, and I was acutely conscious of the infection or whatever it was that was creeping up my side.

Because I was asleep, there was little I could do except retreat to my innermost workings and hope that whatever the nurses were doing had an effect beyond making it worse. The constant pain altered my perception of wakefulness, so when I truly did surface from the anesthesia, I was only half-aware that I could move again.

The fire, though dulled, was still present, and the bulky bandages on my sides almost made me want to hurl. Blood had somehow seeped through the inches-thick gauze wraps, staining the underside of my gown and the sheets of the bed. Groggy from the constant administration of drugs, I rubbed my eyes with a hand not hooked up to beeping machines, pinching the bridge of my nose. _What the hell have I gotten myself into_, I wonder.

The door opens and an official-looking doctor enters, carrying a clipboard laden with papers. She smiles, revealing rows of white teeth. I instantly don't like her.

"Hello Ms. Anders, my name is Dr. Williams." her voice is light and honeyed, matching her platinum-blonde hair.

"What happened?" I asked her warily, unsure of anything at this point. My voice is hoarse and cracks like a teenage boy. She smiles sadly and it makes me want to gag. You can practically smell the false sympathy radiating from her features. She passes me a cup of water, which I take in shaky hands and try to take small sips.

"We're not sure. The gun you used while defending those people had residual bacteria that seem to have infected the first few layers of skin on your side. We had to shear off most of your skin, but the good news is we got rid of the infection completely." she says with a smile at the end, as if losing most of the skin on my side was something to be grateful for. Though of all the outcomes, this one was far preferable to the other.

"So I'm completely cured?" I confirm.

"Yes, you just have to stay another week or so to allow the skin to regrow, and so we can monitor you for any additional changes." It was what I expected, but still. A week or more away from my family, who is by now probably worried sick about me.

"Can… Can I call my family?" The look I receive in response makes me almost choke on my own spit.

"Unfortunately, at this stage, no one can know where you are. You may call them later, when you're feeling better." I slumped, defeated, into my pillows. Grandpa will be worried sick, and the last thing he needs is stress. I ball my hands into fists, taking a deep breath, realizing for the first time that I'm starving.

"Can I get something to eat?" I asked, half expecting her to say no. The woman flipped through a few papers on her clipboard before nodding.

"Of course, I'll have a nurse escort you down to the cafeteria." I almost leaped out of bed and danced a jig; it was more than I could hope for. A few minutes after the woman left, a nurse walked in, this one the only male I'd ever seen. He was tall and beefy, with dark skin and a reverberating baritone voice.

"Hello Ms. Anders, I'm Mike." he shook my hand, a warm smile on his face. He gently helped me out of bed, handing me a cane to use since my whole side seemed to be drawn up tight as a bowstring. Mike seemed kind enough.

* * *

><p>The trek down to the cafeteria was a bit more arduous than I anticipated, but Mike said we made it in record time. It was spacious, with low ceilings and multiple tables in neat rows, the metal chairs attached to the table supports. After procuring food - which looked like a surprisingly edible baked potato and salad - I cautiously lowered myself in a chair, supporting my side with one arm while the other mixed the interior of the potato with the toppings. After confirming that I didn't need anything, Mike sat with a few of his buddies, glancing every now and then at my table.<p>

"Is this seat taken?" a familiar male voice asked. I looked up and saw none other Steve Rogers carrying a tray piled with food.

"Yea, they're all taken by invisible friends." I joked, gesturing for him to sit in the seat opposite me.

"You're looking much better." he commented, and I rolled my eyes. I knew there were dark gray bags under my hazel eyes, my hair was unwashed, and I'm hunched to the side like Quasimodo.

"Thanks, so do you." I said, referencing the generous amount of blood and gore on his previously star-spangled uniform. "How did you defeat all those aliens?" I asked.

"Tony threw a nuke at them through their portal." Steve said, and I whistled.

"Damn, those are some tough aliens." I said as I took a bite of my potato.

"I'll say." Steve chuckled.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: guts and gore. Just thought I might give our squeamish readers a bit of a heads up. :)**

Blood isn't purple.

_Blood isn't purple._

BLOOD ISN'T PURPLE!

So why was there a huge purple splash from my shoulder to my hip? Extending from the center of my ribcage to the center of my back? Burning like fire as tendrils dribbled down my side? The pulsing red that seemed to cover my body? It was all I could do to keep myself from tearing my own skin off.

I waited as Mike hurried over, picked my body up from where I had crumpled on the cafeteria floor, and carried me off to god knows where. It was all a flash of bright lights and sterile nurses and injections in various places, swimming in a haze of black and red fog that threatened to consume my vision. I was aware at one point that my head was pounding, but time seemed to have lost all meaning. Was it a few hours or a few seconds that passed? I didn't dream, but strange visions pass through my body in a haze. Great gobs of dripping red intestines being handed down a line of doctors, like a twisted game of hot potato. Thick chunks of pale skin being plastered to my side with glue, so cold it hurt. It seemed to scrape raw nerves that weren't entirely healed from the first infection. The itch spread, until I was completely covered in a throbbing, oozing purple and red scab. Golden blisters swelled and popped, covering my body with sticky white pus that hardened like a shell. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was dying. At first, I panicked. I was so young, and I hadn't done much more then, well, save a bunch of people from an alien attack. But I realized now that the infection covered my whole body, and death would be a sweet release from the burning, itching, _mind-numbing_ pain.

After a while, I realized that I wasn't dead. The itching and burning was reduced to a mild throbbing throughout most of my body, especially my back, which was pressed against cool white sheets. I cracked open an eye and was almost blinded by white light. I squeezed them shut and growled a little. Slowly, very slowly, I opened one eye, then the other.

I was in my hospital room, under clean sheets. A rustling to my left caught my attention and I turned my head to see Steve slumped in a chair, seemingly half-asleep. A grin tugged at my mouth and with trembling hands I pushed myself up.

The sheet covering my body landed in a pool in my lap, and as I looked down to tug it up, I noticed a jagged, puckered, semi-sutured line that wove from my hip, up my ribcage, and around my armpit. It probably continued on to my shoulder, but I couldn't see. A thick mass of scar tissue covered the remaining skin around it, though it was worse closer to my ribs and radiated out from that point in a decreasing splatter that disfigured my previously smooth olive skin. I let out a strangled moan and pushed the remaining sheet down, showing legs mottled with pale pink scars.

I feverishly glanced around for a reflective surface and saw a flash from the mirror in my bathroom. Despite the lengthy amount of time I'd been unconscious, I stood relatively effortlessly, though my coordination was still spotty and I stumbled to the bathroom. The face that looked back at me was not my own.

My long, black hair had been cropped short, and the ragged, sewn skin from the graft circled under my jaw and back around in one stripe, distinctly paler than the rest of my natural skin. A little scarring around the area marked the raging infection that so recently rendered me incapable of coherent thought processes.

Still breathing heavily, I shuffled back to my bed, swung my legs over, and sat down, still trying to process things. _I'm alive_, I thought. The thought made me somewhat giddy and I almost giggled, but the rest of my predicament was not to be forgotten.

Another rustling noise told me that Steve was awake, and I quickly wrapped the sheet around my exposed chest. Out of habit, I made to swipe back my hair from my forehead, but met with no resistance. I cursed my lack of hair just as Steve _squeaked_ and averted his eyes.

"Sorry!" he said as I lightly laughed.

"It's fine." I reassured him, reaching over to don a hospital gown. I grimaced when my new skin was pulled in different directions, and the new tautness in my scars stretched more than they should. I threw on the hospital gown and sat upright on the bed.

"They told me you almost died." Steve said quietly.

I smiled tightly. "Almost. Yet here I am." I unconsciously ran a hand through my hair again, rolling my eyes at myself when I felt the shorn locks. "At least it will grow back." I sighed. "This however," I prodded the patch of new skin that covered my body, "this probably won't fade very much. The make-up companies will never go out of business now." I commented dryly.

"Scars just say that you were stronger than the thing that caused them." Steve shrugged.

"Words of wisdom coming from someone my age." I smirked. "Though granted, you _have_ had a bit more experience with life than I have."

"I wouldn't call ninety years a 'bit.'" he protested.

"Well you were frozen for half of it." I retorted, and he grinned. "So why is it that I didn't die?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I'd ask your doctor; all I know is that something complicated happened."

"Not one for the medical terminology?" I adjusted my hospital gown, tugging it down a bit.

"Not everyone can have a PhD in medicine." He said, as if he were berating a child.

"Of course they can, PhDs are a dime a dozen these days." I gestured flippantly.

He smiled and stood. "I have to go, but I'll see you again?"

"Most definitely. And maybe brush up on your medical vocabulary?" I batted my eyelashes.

"We'll see!" he called out as he closed the door.

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